Everything Changed
by ROSSELLA1
Summary: "Everything changed when that noose went around my neck." The bodies were never found. Now, Moriarty is back, seeking revenge on Holmes by striking at his the detective's heart. Spoilers for and based off of Hands of a Murderer.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of its characters. This is based off the movie Hands of a Murderer.

Moriarty cried out as the carriage crashed into the water, then in pain as his head hit smashed against the back of the cab. Wincing, he scrambled to the door. The water was pouring in, he could hear the whistles of the officers of the Yard. It wouldn't do to tarry. Lydia was lying on her stomach over the horses, a bullet wound in her shoulder.

Grabbing her, the Professor tried to make his way across the river. He soon found himself struggling against the current. He tried to treat but was bulled beneath the surface.

'Sorry Lydia." James thought and let her go, the current all too ready to take her from him.

Instantly he was able to resurface. It was still a challenge but he was a fairly muscular man and without Lydia to weigh him down, he managed to reach the shore. Morairty allowed himself to rest on the bank but after a few seconds forced himself to get up. The Yard would be all over the place once they realized the cab was empty.

Hissing as pebbles and roots dug into his feet, he staggered into the woods. He'd have to leave London. Holmes had put a significant dent in his organization but James still had properties in the country. He'd make his way out there and recuperate. Then he'd come back to take his revenge on Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 1

Ch.1

Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of its characters. This is based off the movie Hands of a Murderer.

One Year Later…

"Hmm…This is interesting, Holmes." Watson mused, giving his paper a shake. It had been a week since their last case and he was eager to engage his friends mental capacities before Holmes turned to the needle. "A three year old girl has disappeared from her room-"

"The father." Holmes sighed without so much as glancing at Watson.

"I'm sorry?" Watson replied.

"It's the father." Holmes took a puff of his pipe and held up a copy of the article in question before rolling his eyes. "Really Watson, I'd thought even you could deduce this one. The family runs an inn that is quite successful for that part of the country, but they hardly make a fortune; therefore it is unlikely that the girl was kidnapped for ransom money. The article states that the father is away on business, as he often is. But there is little need for an inn keeper of a small town to go away too often. Supplies can be bought through the mail and with a family owned business he would do more good in the inn than wherever he goes. This leads me to conclude that he is creating reasons for his absence. The most common reason would be that he is unhappy in his marriage. However, if he tried to leave, his wife would no doubt keep him from seeing his child. Therefore the only two solutions are to either stay in the marriage or take the daughter and start over somewhere."

"I say, Holmes." Watson guffawed. "You can't surmise-"

"I also bring your attention to the fact that the girl was taken from her room without any sign of a break in or a struggle. Whoever took her had to have full access to the inn; her mother would have remembered if anyone had been in places they shouldn't have been. Seeing as it is a family owned business with only two other employees, the girl could only have been taken by either a family members, one of the employees, or with the help of one of the employees. However, there was no struggle; if someone had entered the room at night, while the girl was sleeping, she at the very least would have knocked something over when she awoke to find a stranger. The fact that nothing was out of place indicates that someone woke her gently and that she knew that person fairly well. The only people she wouldn't find it strange to be in her room would be a family member; she's three, not stupid (although I suppose she could be, but most three year olds are clever enough; they just loose it as they age); she would have been frightened to find anyone else. Now her father is the only family member who has yet to be contacted, ergo, he is the most likely suspect."

Watson sighed. "Well, we'll see."

"Yes; no doubt Lestrade will be here within minutes to fish for advice."

"Holmes," Watson put down his paper, "You know you can be quite arrogant. I know you're usually right but that doesn't mean you need to rub it in everybody's faces. Lestrade saved ours and Mycroft's lives last year. The least you could do would be to refrain from insulting him."  
>Holmes shrugged. "I am sure we would have found some way to get out of there without him."<p>

Watson shook his head and rose to his feet, stretching. "I think I'll step out and take a walk."

"Alright. Did you want me to come along?" Holmes asked.

Watson sighed, picked up his hat and cane. He loved his friend dearly but when it came to social niceties, Holmes was completely oblivious. Without another word, he walked out of the room.

"Watson?" He could hear Holmes ask behind him. But he didn't reply.

…..

"Ah." Watson breathed in deeply as he stepped out into the fresh air. That was better. It had been getting stuffy in their rooms, what with Holmes experiments and pipes. It occurred to him that he may have been a bit harsh on Holmes; after all, the man usually was right. Watson debated going back inside to apologize but decided against it. It wouldn't hurt the man to learn to be more modest. Instead, Watson kept walking, never noticing the two men, one who rose from a bench and the other who emerged from an alley, begin to walk slightly behind him.


	3. Chapter 2

Ch.2

Note: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of its characters. This is based off the movie Hands of a Murderer.

"Mmm…" Watson gave a groan as he stirred awake. Oh God his head hurt! What the hell had happened? He tried to lift a hand to touch his head but found that something was holding both his hands behind his back. Now fully alert, he jerked his arms only to be met with a shot of pain as they were held firm to the back of the chair. 'Chains.' He thought. 'Ropes would have more give. That means whoever has me is experienced.' Watson narrowed his hands but couldn't fit them through the manacles, so he settled for taking in his surroundings.

The Doctor was being held prisoner in a surprisingly decorative room. He was facing a wall that was white with numerous paintings that looked like they had been done by famous artists. Holmes would have been able to tell him exactly who the artists were. Watson shook the thought from his head; his friend would notice he was missing soon enough…but how long had he been out? He thought back and had vague remembrances of going for a walk and then…flashes of waking in a dark place with large men surrounding him…being hit on the head again…and-

The sound of a door opening interrupted his thoughts and he futilely turned his head to see his captor. The chains prevented him. But apparently his captor didn't care to keep his identity a secret.

"Good morning, Doctor." A clear, cold voice spoke from behind him. "I trust you slept well?"

Watson didn't need Holmes to tell him who had him. "Moriarty!" He gasped. "You're-"  
>"Evil? Dastardly? Going to hell? There are so many ways to complete that."<p>

"I was going to say alive." Watson replied, dissembling. "I thought you had drowned."  
>"Yes, of course. I had hoped so." The man came into view, smirking like Holmes when he had caught Lestrade making a particularly obvious mistake. "I must say I never thought that Holmes would allow you to hold such a view."<p>

Watson brushed the comparison aside and took in his captor as his captor was doing to him. "No. Holmes keeps an open mind as to the matter…" He paused. "You look…healthy." Indeed, one would never have guessed the Professor had come so close to death; he was just as lean and lithe as ever. The sinewy muscles, that were so familiar in Holmes' body could be seen in the Professor's, as well. The face, calm, collected, and smiling. The hair groomed back impeccably. But for a scar along the left cheek, there was no sign of Moriarty's brush with the Reaper.

The Professor chuckled. "Yes, well a small dip in the rapids is a trifling matter for one such as myself." His expression grew grave. "The same cannot be said of your friend's involvement, thought. His interference in my career has left me a bit…low on resources."

"One would never know it." Watson commented, shooting a glance at the opulent surroundings. "It certainly hasn't affected your style of living."

Moriarty gave him a chilling smile. "Yes, yes, well… this is only one of my dwellings. At present, I have no more than five safe houses in this country." The doctor snorted. Holmes would be disappointed to know that his prowess had been so ineffective. The other man's face contorted into a snarl and his cool demeanor broke out into rage as he leaned into Watson's face. "I USED TO HAVE FIFTY!" The man said, tone raised to a near yell. They stared at each other, Moriarty breathing heavily and Watson not daring to let out his breath. Then suddenly Moriarty jerked back upwards and began to pace in front of the Doctor. "It's crippled! My empire is crippled!" He hissed. "And all thanks to that meddling Sherlock Holmes." He spat the name as if it was a sin to even say. "But," He stopped, turning and grinning; a calm coming over him once again, "I forget myself. It is not your fault after all."

Watson swallowed and forced himself to speak. "And what, may I ask, do you hope to accomplish by all this?"

Moriarty looked startled, as if Watson had asked an idiotic question. "Why, the restoration of my empire, of course!"

…..

"Do wait out front." Mycroft told the cabbie, flicking him an extra shilling. "And there will be more to come."

"Yessir." The man nodded, sitting up straighter.

Mycroft returned the nod as he exited the hansom. It pained him to depart from his usual routine. Usually he'd be in the office by now, having a nice cup of tea and not talking to anyone. However, word had reached him from a concerned Lestrade that his brother was in, "a considerable state of discontent". What that meant hadn't been elaborated on, but the man had insisted that Mycroft's involvement was needed. This point of view was confirmed the moment Mycroft entered the house.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Mycroft felt the tight embrace of the tearful landlady as she flung her arms around him. "Mr. Holmes, thank goodness you're here!"

He patted the landlady's back. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson." He said gently. "Everything will be alright, but I need you calm. Lestrade did not tell me why I needed to come." Mycroft knew that whatever it was, Lestrade's fears were warranted; Sherlock had put the landlady through a considerable deal of stress in the past and she had become accustomed to a variety of unusual and often unsavory comings and goings. The woman was much stronger than she looked and for her to be brought to the point of tears…

Mrs. Hudson gave a sniffle and drew back. "Of course." She nodded. "How silly of me."

"Not at all, my dear Mrs. Hudson." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Dr. Watson…" She took a deep breath. "Dr. Watson hasn't been home for the past couple of days. Mr…Mr. Holmes went looking for him but he hasn't said he found anything and the poor Doctor is never gone this long without a word and Mr. Holmes has been smoking that dreadful pipe day and night with no sign of resting and...oh!" She broke off into sobs.

"Now, now, my dear Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft patted the woman's back. "I want you to go lie down...no!" He shook his head as she began to protest. "You're overwrought and you need a good rest. I'm going to go speak to my brother and I assure you that we will do everything we can about Dr. Watson." He paused then added. "I can have the office send over some food for us if we are hungry and you needn't trouble yourself."

"But-"

"No, buts! If you worry yourself sick, you won't be any good to anyone, not even yourself. The best way you can help is by taking care of yourself. "The landlady gave a sob and nodded. "There that's a good girl. Now, I'm going to go see my brother and we'll get to work on finding the Doctor." He watched her go down the hall to her chamber, and then with a sigh, headed up the stairs.


End file.
